


Five Men Who Never Wanted Maria Hill

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, five things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: Desire is a fine line. Five men walk it carefully when it comes to Maria Hill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been in the works for at least three years, and only has three parts written. We'll see whether the last two have their say or not.

Her handshake is brisk and clean and she doesn’t give him the once-over as she hands him the tablet. “That’s your brief, Agent Ward. Look it through and let me know if you spot holes.”

And that’s the sum and total of Grant’s introduction to Maria Hill.

“Check-in at midnight.” She hands him his pack. “Your window is an hour; after that, you’re on your own until 1600 hours when you’re due at the extraction point.”

He’s three hours overdue, thanks to a security guard, a schnauzer, an antique book library, and a cockatiel aviary. That’s a tale that will get him drinks for years. Although, he admits as he strolls out into the hotel lobby, it’ll probably end up getting Garrett drinks for years. The man is a first-class plagiarist when it comes to Grant’s escapades.

Adjusting his cufflinks gives him a moment to survey the people moving about the hotel, and to control his surprise when he spots his extraction contact.

To say she cleans up pretty is an understatement. If she wasn’t a SHIELD agent – more specifically, a senior agent – he’d try his luck. As it is, he pecks her on the cheek like they’re old friends, and lets his cufflink tap her watch for the data transfer, even as his hand tightens on her arm. “Relax, Hill, I’m not new to this rodeo.”

Her smile is swift and brilliant, like a kick in the guts. “I happened to be in the area, Ward.” In the back of his head, Grant notes that Hill lies through her teeth like a pro. “There’s been a delay. We’re going to kick back and have a drink, and then catch a taxi out of here just before the diversion arrives.”

They sit down in the lounge, separate chairs. He has a whiskey, she has a soda. Grant lets his gaze linger on her, knowing what people are expecting to see in two young professionals so perfectly matched. She meets his gaze with an amused cynicism that isn’t particularly in character. So it seems Agent Hill isn’t willing to pull the stick out of her ass long enough to playact.

Grant allows himself a few seconds to imagine how enjoyable it might be to get the stick out of her ass – it’s a nice ass – and then supposes that there’s not enough lube in the universe and she wouldn’t be worth it anyway. A woman like Hill would push back against allowing a guy in close, and while some guys like the challenge of getting a woman into bed, Grant isn’t one of them.

Still, as they go out to catch the taxi – driven by an agent, carrying another agent who gets out where they’re waiting, and closes the door after they’re safely in – Grant looks over the slim form of Agent Maria Hill, and thinks how satisfying it would be to leave a scarlet bite mark on that long, slender throat.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He’s deaf (partially), not blind.

And he’s married.

Laura would say he has a thing for brunettes from the midwest telling him what to do. Which, okay, even if she was wrong (which she’s not), he’s not gonna argue that with his _wife_.

But Agent Hill is nearly young enough to be his daughter (yes, he started early, a jaded teen of the eighties). She’s also sharp as one of his arrows, and a…challenging personality.

“The distance won’t be a problem?”

He looks up, offended at the implications. “Seriously?”

“City crosswinds.” The blue eyes are perfectly steady (not baby blues, not this one) and don’t drop or look away when he narrows his eyes.

“Please. I was dealing with city crosswinds while you were still learning to walk.”

She looks him up and down. “That old, are you?”

Clint starts to answer, then sees the gleam in her eye. “Positively ancient,” he tells her. “But I can do the job.”

“Just so long as you do.” The mission sheet she presents him is slim and small. “These are your exits, and these are the pickup points and times that they’ll be open. If you need backup—” She pauses, as though waiting for something.

“Backup?” Clint prompts when she doesn’t continue.

“Actually, I was waiting for you to say you don’t need backup.”

He snorts as he hands the sheet back, having memorised the details on it. “Sister, I may be a one-trick pony, but I know to call for help when I’m in trouble.”

“Good. If you’re in trouble, call it in on the mission contact number. We’ll scramble the support to get the job done and get you out.”

As he puts himself together, Clint wonders if he really wants to work for an organisation where _getting the job_ _done_ is listed before _getting him out_.

But he goes to do the job in blowing wind and near-blinding rain. And hasn’t even gotten one shot off before someone starts shooting at him, and his life becomes the priority over the target’s death. He sends the text like a good little automaton agent, even as the fire intensifies, and he begins to wonder if this whole thing was a con, and he’s been hung out to dry.

He’s just about to make the call when his beeper buzzes, and when he snatches it up, the message reads: _You’re covered. Fire when ready._

He can trust or he can fail the mission. Not much of a choice in his opinion. So Clint steps out and realises the shooting has stopped. Someone’s sniped the sniper sniping at him. Which is going to make his head hurt if he thinks about it, so he doesn’t think.

Instead, he shoots, he scores, he gets the hell out of dodge. And isn’t really surprised when he reaches the pickup point and finds Agent Hill already sitting in the chopper, a sniper rifle case at her feet, a slow smile teasing her mouth.

Clint’s mouth is dry. And he is not going to wet it with hers, much as he’d like to.

But competent brunettes from the midwest? Hell, yeah.

 


End file.
